


Singular Obsession

by lindoreda



Series: Roads go Ever On [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Controlling Behavior, Gold Sickness, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, No really this is not one of my happy fics, One Shot, This is about as depressing as I can do, Thorin's harp playing, humoring the madman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:05:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindoreda/pseuds/lindoreda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the dragon slain and the mountain retaken, Thorin Oakenshield becomes obsessed with two things: the Arkenstone, and Bilbo Baggins. Except Bilbo is not a thing, and there is only so long he can do this.</p><p>Companion piece to And Whither Then?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singular Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Because gold-mad Thorin serenading Bilbo is a lovely, if terrifying image, and Richard Armitage says the darndest things. If you want to get any joy out of this, read part 1 first. There are a few references to it here, but if all you want is angst, you should know that Thorin wrote the tune to Bilbo's walking song, and Bilbo came up with the words.

When the dragon left, and for all intents and purposes Erebor was retaken, Thorin found that he couldn’t relax. The Arkenstone needed to be found, but he suddenly didn’t trust the other members of his company to look for it. Seeing how enchanted they were by the gold (though he was no less enchanted), he feared that they would steal it if they found it. But he could not find it alone, not with all of the treasure of Erebor potentially on top of it. So, with much reluctance, he put most of the company to work seeking the Arkenstone, with the rest fixing the gate. He watched them from a distance with a distinctly unfriendly eye, and every hour that passed deepened his suspicion.

So Thorin stayed apart from the other company members, guilt gnawing at him for his lack of trust. Bilbo he kept at his side. Bilbo alone did Thorin believe he could trust. Hobbits were without greed, except when it came to food, or so Thorin’s fevered mind thought. Bilbo, who had given words to his song, could be trusted to give him the Arkenstone should he find it. That was Bilbo’s job, after all. And anyone who looked upon him could see that the gold held not the least bit of interest for him, so why would a jewel be any different?

Thorin was wrong of course, but it would be a while before he knew it.

Sometimes, when the search for the Arkenstone had been particularly wearying, and Thorin felt like his soul cried out for something more, he would hear Bilbo humming, and then there was nothing for it but to find a harp. They would play and sing together, the music filling in the gaps in his heart. He couldn’t worry about the other members of the company or the Arkenstone during these times. The only thoughts that occupied his mind were about the music, and Bilbo. And when the music would draw to a close, and his harp was put aside for the moment, Thorin found himself reaching for Bilbo to take the harp’s place in his arms. There was nothing explicit about their relationship (in the sense that they never spoke about it, or tried to clarify what it meant); Thorin would just take Bilbo in his arms, sometimes merely clutching the hobbit like he was the anchor keeping the madness at bay, and at other times, licking an ear here, biting a neck there, his hands sliding under Bilbo’s clothes until they were both flushed and breathing heavily.

Bilbo always leaned into his touch, whichever kind it was, his even breaths becoming ragged pants when Thorin’s touch became more amorous, or quieting into the slow breathing of sleep when Thorin simply held him. Bilbo was just so comfortable with him, and if he had known what Bilbo hid, he might have wondered more at it, but as it was, he simply accepted it. They had grown close in Mirkwood, and this was the natural consequence. He never asked himself if he loved Bilbo, and never asked Bilbo how he felt. He simply took what Bilbo offered.

Sometimes, when Bilbo was sprawled out on top of the gold, flushed and panting with his clothes open but not removed, his eyes glittering from lust or the shine of the treasure in the firelight (Thorin could not be sure, nor did he want to be), Thorin would pull back for a moment, and take in the sight. Here was his treasured hobbit, in the home he had fought to reclaim, on the gold that his people had been without for so long. He didn’t need the other members of his company. His treasures were all before him, within easy reach.

Then Bilbo would squirm a little, uncomfortable with this kind of inspection and the gleam of madness in Thorin’s eyes, and Thorin would come back to him, fervent and passionate and saying his name like it was the only thing holding him together. Bilbo feared that it was, but his guilt prevented him from saying so. If he alienated Thorin, who would Thorin have left? Fili and Kili had been in Lake Town when Smaug left the mountain, but in his madness, Thorin remembered them not. He had eyes only for Bilbo, and the gold, and the as yet missing Arkenstone.

Once, Bilbo woke before Thorin, and tried to extricate himself from the circle of Thorin’s arms. Still asleep, Thorin had growled and held him tighter. That was when Bilbo knew, or at least accepted, that he could not give Thorin the Arkenstone. That even now, it might be too late, Thorin might be too far gone.

That he might not be the same Thorin who had looked at him in wonder as he sang the words he had composed for Thorin’s song. The Thorin he had loved. Because that Thorin would not be able to sleep soundly, knowing that his nephews might be no more than bones at the bottom of the lake. That Thorin would have greeted his comrades, if not with a smile than at least with a nod, instead of a suspicious glare and a tightening arm around Bilbo. That Thorin… tears came to his eyes as he thought it. That Thorin would not have eaten, slept, and fucked on a pile of gold. 

So, when morning came, and Thorin’s grip loosened, Bilbo invented some pretext and fled to the wall, the chill mountain air a shock after the cloying warmth of the treasury and Thorin’s arms. There was still smoke in the air from Lake Town, and everyday the line of Men and Elves drew closer. 

It was no surprise when Balin appeared, worry etched in the lines of his face. “How is-” he began, but Bilbo didn’t need (or maybe didn’t want) him to finish.

“He’s worse everyday. I think he’s past the point of no return.” The last words were a whisper. It was different to admit it to himself, and to admit it to Balin, who had known Thorin the longest.

Balin simply stared ahead grimly. “There is nothing more you can do?” he asked, his tone betraying that he already knew the answer.

Bilbo was glad at least that he was able to surprise him. “I think there is one more thing I can do,” he admitted. “But Thorin will never want to see me again.”

Balin shook his head. “I regret asking this of you laddie, but-”

“Conspiring against me, Balin?” At some point, Thorin had joined them on the wall, his eyes glittering with madness, his hair flying wildly in the wind. Bilbo tried to retreat, knowing that violence would be done this day one way or another, and not wanting to fall to his death, but Thorin was quicker. In a few quick bounds, he had Bilbo by the back of his coat, and was hauling him back to the treasury. “I never should have trusted you!” Thorin shouted at Balin as he left, and Bilbo saw how deeply the words cut. He had no choice now. He had to save Thorin, come what may.

“You will not leave my sight again,” Thorin was saying, his grip tightening ruthlessly. “I cannot trust the others with you. They will try to take you from me, just as they will take the Arkenstone.”

“I’m not a gold statuette, Thorin,” Bilbo argued wearily. “No one can take me if I do not wish to go.”

Thorin stopped in his tracks, giving Bilbo the opportunity to regain his feet. “And you do not wish to go?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet, though with a hopeful note that tore at Bilbo’s heart. A tiny speck of the Thorin he loved was still in there.

“No, I do not wish to go,” Bilbo said with a sigh.

But when sleep wouldn’t come that night, knowing what he must do on the morn, Bilbo found himself murmuring, “Roads go ever on and on…”


End file.
